What Is Left
by TenTenD
Summary: Lyanna convinces her brother to take the throne for her son with the help of a Spider, a young Lion and a Rose by marriage, tries to make peace with the Sun and Spear and lives her life in the shadows of a prophecy by choice.


Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning, looked at the woman before him as if she'd sprouted a second head and another pair of arms. Wylla, however, levelled him a cool, collected stare, hands on her hips, waiting for a reply to her demand. Or rather to Lyanna Stark's.

"Well, which one of you will brave the birthing chamber?" the tanned midwife questioned without an ounce of sympathy for the Bull who looked ready to sway right off his feet and Whent looked rather pale. "Come now, m'lady's patience is threadbare a thing."

As it should be. Arthur did not imagine any woman might labour all those long hours without losing any ounce of patience stored away. With a sigh, he stood to his feet and silently cursed it all. He thought about his friend lying in a watery grave and about the girl in the tower who had told the Prince, like any self-respecting queen to be, that if he dared return to her on his shield she would personally see to it that his afterlife was filled with misery.

 _("You will come back," Lyanna Stark seethed, tying the layer of protective leather around Rhaegar's hands and wrist. "You will come back here and tell me exactly how you've dealt with the man that calls himself our King."_

 _Rhaegar had looked at her half in wonder, half in consternation. Lyanna had clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Don't carry on so. I am hardly asking you to spear the man. But I am asking for retribution.")_

She had not been merely angered to hear of her brother's death. She had been despondent, furious and inconsolable. Arthur had heard their argument because he was the one on guarding duty when Rhaegar had told her. That had been a storm.

Now came another storm. They'd not spoken of it because, none of them. Gerold Hightower had wanted to tell her, but Arthur had stopped him. She had already lost her brother and father, stood to lose another in the war and was utterly alone for all she cared to know. They could not simply say to her that Rhaegar had fallen as well. Lyanna Stark, for whatever reason, clung to her own hopes of dragon princes. It would not do anyone any good to rip that from her.

"Well, ser, are you coming or are we waiting for the sun to set together?" Wylla broke him out of his mediation.

* * *

Red-faced, exhausted and more than a tad harried, Lyanna glared at the Kingsguard with all the rage accumulated. The midwife's helper carried a small ewer of water and nudged Arthur gently. He looked as if they were leading him to slaughter. Lyanna refrained from making any comment, mainly because unclenching her teeth would mean dropping the cloth she held between them and that could only result in horrifying wailing or cracked teeth.

Holding out her hand in silent demand she cursed at her absent husband for being so very late. And at the same time she did truly wish for Rhaegar. Alas she would have to make do with Arthur Dayne. Her trembling fingers clutched at his big callused hand. There was some comfort in it, she reckoned. Lyanna supposed she'd just wanted a person who was not a complete stranger.

 _("You had better return," she'd said to him, one hand resting on her slightly rounded middle. "If you leave this debt unpaid, you will regret it." Her promise was met with a small, tentative smile. Lyanna frowned. The blade of the knife danced across his skin. "Don't move." The hand she'd been keeping against her stomach lifted to cup one side of his face and keep him still. She might accidentally cut his throat otherwise._

 _Thankfully, he kept still. Lyanna finished shaving him and pulled the knife back. "There, that should do." She allowed his arms to linger around her in a loose embrace. The she-wolf looked down between them. "What if this isn't your Visenya?" she asked, quite suddenly at that._

 _"Well," Rhaegar began, taking the knife away from her to put it on the table, "I cannot name the child Viserys. My brother has already been given that name. I suppose we ought to consider Baelor or Gaemon. Not Aegon either, of course."_

 _"Or Duncan," Lyanna offered, testing._

 _"Or Duncan," Rhaegar agreed._

 _"So you shan't be cross if this is not Visenya?" How curious. He spoke with such certainty of the prophecy._

 _"I should be devastated, but I daresay I will live through it like many have before me." When Lyanna lifted her head she was not entirely surprised to find understanding in his face. "The best we can do is hope. As this child, I will love him or her whatever the outcome."_

 _There were times when Lyanna did not understand the man.)_

Of course, she might have felt ten times the better for it had she been actually crushing Rhaegar's bones. The gods knew he deserved it.

"M'lady, you must push," Wylla's sharp instruction jarred her. Lyanna made a sound in the back of her throat, the words muffled. "Push."

She wanted to say that she was pushing, gods damn it. It was certainly no fault of hers the child took after the father and was stubborn as a mule. And she pushed and pushed again. She felt close to expiring. Alas, that fate was not for her.

How she succeeded, Lyanna would never manage to piece together. All she knew was that one moment her ears were ringing with pain and the next shrill, displeasured cries were coming from a tiny, bloody lump that looked vaguely human in shape.

Wylla groused something about strong lungs, but Lyanna was much too preoccupied with the child to pay her any mind. She let go of Arthur's hand and rose on unsteady elbows. "'Tis a son," the midwife said. "A healthy son.

Lyanna half heard the relieved sigh of Arthur Dayne as she threw away the cloth she'd kept to muffle her pain. She struggled to sit up. "Give him to me. Give me my son." The child was placed in her arms.

Peering down into the small, red face with wrinkled skin, a sob caught in Lyanna's throat. He was most definitely a Duncan.

* * *

 _(Ned shook his head at her antics and pursed his lips. "You are entirely too harsh on the man. Give him a chance, Lya."_

 _"A friend and a husband are two very different roles. Suitability in case of one does not necessarily imply suitability for the other," Lyanna replied, cutting a rose from the bush and adding it to the small bunch she'd already gathered._

 _"You would suit," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Lyanna looked up at him. "Storm's End would be a good ally as well. Father only wants what is best."_

 _"Then I suppose he ought to wed you to one of Lord Frey's daughters so we might have the manpower to go with these grand keeps," she snapped, standing to her full height and brushing his hand off._

 _"Will nothing please you?" he finally snapped at her, crossly taking her by the shoulder and forcing her to face him._

 _Grimacing, the sister shook her head. "Not if it has anything to do with that man.")_

Ned looked at the bodies, bile rising in his throat. The babe's skull had been crushed, the little girl did not have even an inch of skin without a laceration. Princess Elia he could not even bear to glance at for more than a few seconds. And Robert stood there, looking in triumph at the carnage.

"This is preposterous," Ned hissed at him, taking Robert by the shoulder. "They were innocents."

"Dragon spawn," Robert spat.

It struck Ned, in a moment of clarity, that his sister's eyesight had been better than his. "We made war upon a mad king. Not upon women and children." He could feel the blood draining from his face. Fingers clenching instinctively around Ice, Ned considered, for one wild moment, ending the dispute with steel.

But he could not. Too strong was his friendship with the man. Instead, he turned around and washed his hands of the scheme. He would have no part of it.

Jon Arryn followed him outside, trying to halt his departure. "Eddard, go no further. We must speak."

"I do not wish to speak," Ned said over his shoulder. "Is this what we fought for?"

"My Elbert is dead." The words did make Eddard stop. He turned to look at Jon Arryn. "Your brother is dead. Your sister–"

"I know my brother and sister better than you, my lord. If Brandon is dead it is because his words were treason." Everyone had spoken of it, the way the gallant fool claimed loud and clear that he would kill the Crown Prince. Of course the King would have retaliated. Understanding in no way lessened the pain. But Ned was not yet so deluded as to cast shadows where none would fit. "I fought to avenge my father and wash away the dishonour of his execution. As for my sister, I shall find out soon enough from her own mouth what has happened."

* * *

The eunuch gave him a vary glance. Bound as he was, there was little he could do to protect himself. "And why should I tell you anything, Lord Stark?" he addressed the youth before him.

"If you value your life, you shall tell me," Ned replied, sitting down in a chair. "Where did he take my sister?"

Varys smiled. "I daresay pursuing her is in no one's interest. You saw what happened to Princess Elia's babes."

"Any man who tries to harm even a hair on my sister's head will have a taste of my steel." Gone was the boy who'd donned a too big armour and rode to conquer victory for honour. Nay, before him stood a man.

"She was willing." The words did not produce the surprise the Spider had expected. Eddard Stark gave him a hard look. "It is likely she bore him a child. He told me as much. It seems you have a choice, my lord. And not an easy one." The bald one paused. "What will it be?"

* * *

Jaime Lannister drew his sword at the advancing man, having yet to forget the thunderous way in which he'd nearly met his end. But Eddard Stark simply gave him a hard stare. "Put that away," he ordered. "I am surprised they still allow you to have a weapon."

Blushing violently at the insult, Jaime barely managed to keep his temper in check. "Lord Stark," he gritted out. "What could I possibly do for you?" What was the worse he could ask, after all. He was already the Kingslayer without an ounce of honour.

"Why did you do it?"

* * *

She screeched like a banshee, waking the child from his slumber and setting him weeping. "How dare you?" Lyanna cried, trying to sit up from her bed. Alas, the birthing had left her too weak. The midwife turned wet-nurse feared she might have grown feverish. Arthur did not think it the case with the way she yelled. "I had the right to know."

Duncan wept louder, making Lyanna's head snap towards him. "Give me my son," she ordered to Wylla. The woman, who did not seem like she wished to be part of what would follow, scurried to follow the orders and then be about. Lyanna cradled the child and tried to hush him. But Duncan would not be deterred. It seemed the loss was as clear to him as it was to her.

"There is more, I fear," Arthur continued. "Robert Baratheon, though wounded, at the Trident, had managed to make for King's Landing. The city was sacked. The royal family was slaughtered."

"It cannot be." The shock on her features was short-lived. Her breathing grew irregular. Arthur recognised the signs of panic. He strode towards her. "My Duncan. You have to save my son." A mother's heart was ever to her children. "By rights he is your King."

"I swore to his father that if anything were to happen to him, I would not shirk my duty to you and the child, my lady. The Kingsguard stands by the true King." The mother clutched her babe as Duncan fussed. "No one will being you harm, my lady."

"It is just three of you, ser. Formidable as I know you to be, I much doubt we shall make it unscathed." Luminous eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Then we shall die trying," a voice spoke from the doorway. Ser Gerold nodded his head.

Behind him Oswell Whent blinked slowly, as if in agreement. "Though the joy had fled this place, my lady, for 'tis a fleeting, perverse sort of feeling, loyalty had remained."

Over the next few days, preparations were made. Lyanna, though hardly able to rest well and forever keeping watch on her son lest any ill befall him. It was on the fourth day that Eddard Stark arrived, accompanied by men unknown to Arthur.

Lyanna, seeing her brother, recognised him immediately. She climbed to her feet, clutching Duncan to her bosom and stepped behind Ser Whent. But Eddrad Stark hardly looked like he might wish to harm her. Instead, a travel-weary man stared with hardened eyes towards an equally emotionally worn woman.

"What manner of greeting is this, sister?" he demanded of her, climbing down his horse. The rest of his company followed suit. "I am your own brother." His eyes moved to the bundle she protected so.

"Are you truly?" Lyanna questioned, shifting the weight in her arms gently. "Why should I trust that I will be receiving any better treatment than poor Princess Elia and her children?"

"Because 'twas Tywin Lannister who gave orders to slay them," a new voice cut in. Arthur recognised the person immediately. Though covered, in a brown cloak with the hood drawn, it was unmistakably Jaime Lannister that spoke.

* * *

Lyanna poured the wine with a careful hand, watching like a hawk the way in which her brother handled her Duncan. "No words, brother mine? Nothing at all?"

"What can I possibly say at this point?" If the child lived, and by the healthy lungs and rosy complexion it would, then Varys had been right and the dragons still ruled. "Were you happy with him?"

His sister made a small sound in the back of her throat. "He called this the Tower of Joy, do you know?" Duncan gurgled and squirmed in his uncle's hold. "Is there anything left of the army?"

"Enough for the scheme to work," came the assurance. "I did not know, Lya. I did not know what to think. I had hoped, foolishly, that it would be easy."

"It never is." She placed the cup before him and took her son back. "Ser Dayne, you needn't stand there, you know?" she asked of the man in the doorway. "My brother won't begrudge you a cup of wine, I am certain."

"Why Duncan?" Ned sprang the question on his sister suddenly. "It does not seem like something a Targaryen would choose."

"Because he is not Visenya and Viserys is already taken." Lyanna's nose wrinkled. "You believe Lord Tully would join you?"

"His daughter is my wife." The woman he had left in Riverrun. Ned sighed. His wife, and he barely even knew her.

"His other daughter is wife to Lord Arryn," Lyanna pointed out, rocking Duncan gently back and forth.

"And Lord Arryn has avenged his heir and likely, if the gods are good, his wife shall give him another. I fought a madman, Lyanna." How cumbersome the excuse had grown. Ned was well-aware that, should he have asked her properly, Lyanna would have spoken of it to him. "Pycelle is an obstacle, I grant you, but Varys shall sort it out."

"And the Reach?" Possibly the strongest force, to Ned's mind, they had supported Aerys, many of them. "Would there be anything that might tempt them to our side?"

"There might. Mace Tyrell has had a daughter born to him at the beginning of the year." Lyanna looked at Ser Dayne. His words were her son's chance, she understood. "That leaves the Baratheons and the Lannisters. Mayhap Stannis can be worked upon, but Tywin Lannister will not budge."

"Not even for his son, do you think?" Ned enquired. "It might win us Dorne as well. Revenge is ad good a motivator as any."

"Doran Martell is not hasty and much better at concealing his thoughts than his brother, but he would not refuse a chance if given one," Arthur offered. As for Lord Lannister, it would be best if we were swift. The man can smell a plot better than any hound can find prey."

* * *

Lyanna tied the string around her middle and tried not to feel irritated by the uncomfortable feeling of roughspun scraping against her skin. Wylla was busy hiding her hair out of sight, beneath a layer of pristine cloth. "Your skin is too white and soft, m'lady, but there is nothing for it. Keep your head down and all should be well."

She and Duncan were to ride in the car along with Wylla. According to Ned, they should not have much trouble. The Lord Commander had vouched for their destination, claiming that Lord Hightower had a good head on his shoulders. "He is my nephew, Your Grace," he'd told Lyanna addressing her formally. He'd been the first one to do it and the others had followed along.

"I shall, worry not," Lyanna replied to the earlier instructions. "I've no desire to be peeling skin off later." The blasted Dornish sun would undoubtedly do irreparable damage were she without attention. In her arms the babe was placed carefully by Oswell Whent.

"He sleeps like a rock," the Kingsguard offered quietly. "I doubt an invading horde of Dothraki screamers could wake him."

"Let us not put your theory to the test," Lyanna replied with a worn smile.

* * *

 _A/N: Don't worry, you'll see how Duncan gets the Jon monicker._


End file.
